Nostalgia
by linnie kinda spinnie
Summary: He was always a pain in her ass; now he's a make-up wearing, property destroying, mass killing pain in her ass. And he still won't leave her alone. He may call himself the Joker now, but she knows him as Jack, the little punk that made her sophomore year unforgettable (and not necessarily in a good way). A Joker/OC dramedy with lots of laughs, angst, and sexual tension. Rated T-M
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

It comes to him in flashes. Prompts.

Needles; flash. The smell of diesel; flash. Sirens; flash. Pain; flash, flash, flash.

Usually he ignores them. Shakes his head, bats at the cobwebs, weeds through the fog.

Sometimes, though, they persist. And of all the times for one to persist, it just had to be now.

It just had to be her.

"Un-f _ucking_ -believable," he says under his breath, sucking on the corner of his mouth. One of his guys makes side eyes at him, eyes a little wide (Bossman doesn't swear, not ever. Or at least, he never has before).

He ignores the looks he gets, and continues to gnaw at his lips as he stares at the prompt, and tries to block out the flashes.

Brown hair, blue eyes; driving fast, lights speeding by, blurred by the rain, the sound of her laugh.

Pale skin, lips too big for her face; a fist connecting with his face, the sound of her scream, and laughter, but not hers; crueler, harsher.

Flash; sitting underneath the bleachers, passing a bottle back and forth. Flash; arguing, shoving, unkind words, watching her walk away. Flash; sneaking into her bedroom, waiting for her to come home, her little squeal of surprise. Flash; a cloud of blue smoke drifting lazily over them, the orange glow from the end of their shared cigarette.

Of all the times, of all the prompts, why did it have to be her?

He starts to laugh, and he doesn't stop. Because it's too perfect, and it's too fucking _funny._

And those blue eyes just stare back, not recognizing him, horrified like the rest of them. Blue smoke drifts around her again, seeping from her slack mouth, like it did those many years ago. A habit she never kicked apparently.

She looks different, and the same. She's wearing fancy threads now; well-fitted pencil skirt and a silky looking blouse. She's a carbon copy of all the other blokes out in the alley taking a smoke.

Of all the places to work at, of course she works at the hotel that Bruce Wayne owns, and of course she happens to be working on the same night as the fundraiser.

Serendipity. Coincidence. Fate. Dumb fucking luck.

Whatever it is, he's not the kind of man to ignore something like this. Because if he does, those flashes will gnaw and gnaw and _gnaw_ at his mind, until he tries to scratch them out with his fingernails. He knows, because it has happened before; he has the scars to prove it.

But not now. He has bigger plans (if you wanna call them that). One girl is nothing in comparison to an entire city. Oh, but he'll get back to her, he'll remember. It might take him some time to sort through all the flashes and prompts and needlework in his mind, but he will remember. So he decides not to do anything just yet. He decides to let her simmer, marinate. Let her remember his eyes on her; let her stew in her fear.

Hell, maybe she will remember him all on her own. But probably not.

He's not Jack anymore. No he's not.

 **A/N**

 **This is just a teaser. The rest of the story will be told with a slightly different voice/narrative as it will mostly be told from my OC's POV, and therefore it will be much less disjointed.**

 **As well, this will be a relatively amusing story, but with lots of angst and sexual tension thrown in. In my opinion, the best comedies are the ones that can make you laugh and cry, and that is my goal here. I hope this reeled you in, and I hope you don't think that this trope is overused. I am planning a couple surprises for you so please don't abandon this yet.**

 **Be cautioned however; I am notorious at keeping the updates going at the beginning, but then months and months stretching between them as my muse wanes. Look at any of my past incomplete stories (ie Rumour and Convenient Distractions for example). Not to sound like a review whore, but one way to at least try to counteract this is by giving me a review. Just a couple words really make an authors day, as well as give them the confidence to continue.**

 **Anyway, enough yammering.**

 **Cheers,**

 _ **linnie**_


	2. Chapter 2

The first day I met that scarred motherfucker I was relieved to see him because clearly, I wasn't going to be the only freak in the Grade 11 AP chemistry class. I say freak because I was a thirteen year old among sixteen year olds, and fuck me did I look it. I still had baby fat on my cheeks and my gut; my braces were yellow on the top and blue on the bottom, with pink elastics running up and down. My face was oily and covered in spots, I had mousy hair with horrible bangs, glasses, and I was less than five foot. Also my go to outfits were frumpy yellow sweaters and practical shoes, like a librarian who had simply given up. And then there was my brain. Not only had I skipped grade eight, but I was also placed in an applied upper year class; so not only were they sixteen year olds, they were the snooty, intelligent sixteen year olds. Despite my fabulous ability to disguise any real feelings with sarcasm, thirteen year old me was way, way out of her league. So seeing this freaky kid, with his greasy, too-long hair, ill-fitting clothes, and strange scar was oddly comforting. I mean, holy shit he was intimidating, but at least he seemed just as out of place as me.

The teacher, Mr. Terrence, forced me to come to the front of the class, and tell my peers a little about myself. After much stuttering, and self-deprecating jokes that were met with zero laughter, Mr. Terrence took pity on me, and I scurried to the only available seat at the back of the room, which of course was right beside the weird boy. I hurriedly got out my notebook and a couple pens, and tried my best to listen to the teacher, but I was distracted by the boy's face. It was sharp and closed off, too pale. His lips looked horribly chapped. What was most distracting was the scar on the right side of his face. I mean the other side of face was untouched, about as perfect as a teenage boys face can be (see: acnes scars, newly developing stubble), but Jesus the right side was a shocker. The scar started at the corner of his mouth, and slashed across his cheek. The scar tissue was pink and puckered, as if it had been badly stitched. It was like a fucked up caterpillar lying across his face. It was the most gruesome thing I had ever seen up until that point in my life, and I was transfixed by it. I watched with a revulsion and fascination as his tongue darted out and traced along the seam of the scar, before darting back in. That would explain the chapped lips.

His eyes suddenly moved, darting to the corners, seemingly unsurprised to find me staring at him. I jumped a little in my seat, made a stupid little squeak sound, and hastily looked forward, heat rising in my cheeks. My shoulders tensed up as I felt his eyes on me, so I scrunched into myself. Every once and a while I risked a glance at him, and every time I looked this fucker was side-eyeing me. At one point I could have sworn one corner of his mouth curved up in a little smirk. When the bell rang, I was out of my seat faster than I had ever moved before, rushing to get out of that room. My awkward little body wasn't made for that speed, and I ended up tripping, and slamming into the doorway. I ricocheted off the wall, hitting my head in the process, and then landed flat on my back, my belongings, (including a pad and a pair of Minnie Mouse underwear) flying everywhere, because in my hurry, I hadn't closed my bag properly.

There I was, first day of high school, star-fished on the ground as my peers circled around me. I blinked, my mouth making a little 'o', too stunned to cry (although the tears would start up soon). I could see my classmates holding back their laughter out of social etiquette. Well, all except for one. At the back of the room, I could hear someone snorting with laughter. As Mr. Terrence helped me off the ground, I spied the scary fucker still sitting at his desk, his head thrown back, laughing his fucking ass off.

And that was the day that the scarred motherfucker began to ruin my life.

~/~

I had a concussion, so I didn't have to go to school the very next day, but I was back within that same week. Apparently, my mishap had gotten around, because my schoolmates, young and old, would see me and then dramatically across the ground. Think William Shatner kind of dramatic. They hit me with the classic "hey spazz" and the now outdated and socially unacceptable "watch where you're going retard". Even back then, I found words like that ineffective, so it was easy to ignore. These delinquents were simple, so I let them feel superior, since their lives after high school were bound to be disappointing and sad.

That said, I was really, really not looking forward to chemistry. I skulked in, and rolled my eyes at the whispers and snickers. Simpletons. Of course, the only available seat was beside the scar-faced laughing fucker. At this point, I didn't even know this kid's name and I equal parts hated him and was terrified by him. He was hunched over his desk, his hair even greasier than the last time I saw him, and his shoulders were hunched up to his ears. He was tapping a short, extremely chewed up pencil erratically against his desk. I plopped into my seat and refused to look at him. The class was actually going well, I understood what Mr. Terrence was saying, I answered like all of his questions, which of course made my classmates think I was even more freak; but, like, a thirteen year old was smarter than them, so they should have felt embarrassed. The freak beside me never looked up, or wrote a note or anything.

But then, the most dreaded phrase for introverts.

"Get into pairs," Mr. Terrence, the actual Devil, said. I watched helplessly as my peers all swiveled, smiling at their friends, scooting their chairs over. I looked around desperately for someone, but everyone was already paired up. And so, I turned reluctantly in my seat, and saw that the freak was peeking at me, giving me the fucking side-eye again through his hair.

"I guess we're partners," I deadpanned. The freak didn't say anything, just continued to look at me.

"Okay, so get to know your partner a little, because you will be working with them all year," Mr. Terrence announced.

"Joy," I muttered, resting my head on my desk. My head popped back up when I heard the scrape of a chair. The weirdo was slowly scooting closer to me, obnoxiously drawing the screeching sound out. I couldn't hide my _the fuck?_ frown as he scooted until we were shoulder to shoulder. I scooted away, but he only scooted closer again. Okay, personal space was clearly not going to be a thing.

"Oookay," I said, trying not to stare at his scar, "Well, um, I guess start with the easy stuff. My name is Bree Stubbens."

An awkward pause, the guy just staring.

"This… this is usually where the other person says their name," I hid my discomfort with sarcasm, one of the many qualities my parents despised. They said I hid behind cynicism and apathy, and, well, yeah they were right.

"Are you like touched in the head or something," just remember it was 1998, it was a different time, no offense meant, "Because if so this really isn't the right class for you. Maybe you should try art class. Eat some glue, get high on some paint fum—"

His hands slammed onto the desk, so so loud, and he stuck his face is right into mine. How I remained seated is still a mystery, but I swear a leapt entire foot off my seat.

"Fucking Christ," I gasped out. His mouth split into a deranged grin, revealing teeth that had already begun to yellow (a nicotine habit, judging from the way he smelled).

"You got a big mouth, Stubbs," the scarred fucked said, grinning and staring and way too close to me. My eyes would have rolled if they hadn't been all kinds of wide and scared. My lips were abnormally large, and took up far too much room on my face, a fact I was well aware of. Pair that with my dazzling personality, and it was often a topic of discussion from my parents, teachers and peers (see: fucking morons with zero creativity).

Instead of replying, I looked wildly around the room, to see if anyone else noticed the classroom harassment unfolding. Apparently, all my classmates were either deaf or were used to the scarred freak's outbursts, because they were all merrily talking amongst themselves. Even the teacher was simply gazing longingly at the clock. My eyes zipped back to the weirdo beside me when he leaned in closer, still grinning like a fucking maniac.

"You scared of me, little girl?"

 _Little Girl?_

Was he fucking serious?

I felt mildly violated, and it must have shown on my face, because the crazy fucker flung himself away from me to laugh like, well, a crazy fucker. I watched him incredulously, and then looked around again to see if anyone one else was taking this in. Nope, oblivious simpletons.

"You're a hoot, Stubbs," the scarred fucker said, then stuck his hand in my face, "Name's Jack."

I curled my nose up at the offensive appendage in my face, and it only made him laugh harder.

"Oh, oh, you are a _keeper_."

The hell did that mean?

"Are… are you like having a fit? Do I need to get an adult? I'm starting to feel like I need to get an adult," I gesticulated a little wildly, my face stuck in a disconcerted grimace. He clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to physically move the chair forward, and myself and laughed in my face; his breath smelled like cigarettes, coffee and strawberry Skittles.

"I'm just dandy. Now, let's get to know each other a little better, shall we?"

And that's how I spent the rest of my second day of high school: A deranged maniac's arm slung around my shoulders, talking my ear off. The most random topics. He never actually told me about himself, or asked me about myself.

 _Do you think the moon landing was a conspiracy?_

 _Do you think when they discovered cow milk they tried to milk other animals? Like what about cougar milk or bear milk?_

 _What if no one actually knows what the colour green actually looks like, and we all are just pretending to be able to distinguish it from other colours?_

 _Did you know that dolphin's gangbang, sometimes other male dolphins?_

 _What does the inside of your nose smell like?_

And so on. For thirty fucking minutes.

That was the day I realized Jack was going to be a problem for me.

 **Sorry for the inactivity. I can't promise a speed update, but reviews might help with motivation, so if you have something to say, drop me a line.**

 **Thanks,**

 **Linnie**


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